Spellbound
by emiliagilmore
Summary: He meant it when he told Luke it was long over. But as Rory slowly finds herself, Jess finds his feelings for her returning.
1. The laws of physics and love

AN: This takes place immediately after Rory shows Jess the first three chapters of her book in the Revival. This is my first fanfiction so I'm not sure yet whether I will continue the story or leave it as a one-shot.

" _Can electricity travel through fabric_?" he silently contemplated.

 _L_ ooking down at the wooly collar of his jacket where her hands had been pressed just seconds ago he decided matter-of-factly that wool is a conductor, because how else could he explain the sparks that had spread from the fabric to his chest and were now coursing through his body.

" _Static electricity,"_ Jess assured himself knowing full well that the only chemistry he had ever concerned himself with in school involved more lips and skin than protons and electrons. Jess shook his head as if the motion could shake off the memories of his time in Stars Hallow with her that were bubbling to surface; his brain automatically associating books and lips with Rory. She'd tried to make him study, but they'd always end up on the couch above the dinner in the apartment he shared with Luke, kissing until neither of them could breathe. That part had always worked.

He meant what he had said to Luke. Things with Rory were long over. Long, long over. More than 10 years over. This town was just making him nostalgic.

Jess picked up his duffel bag and shrugged it over his shoulder, turning his body to take one last glance through the window. Rory was placing a blanket gently over Kirk's couch-ridden frame. She had this serene smile on her face as she doted on the town lunatic that he hadn't seen grace her features since they were much younger; he felt it pull him closer to the window, rooting his boots to the porch. She'd always been like a magnet.

Earlier this year when they'd had lunch, if one could call scotch lunch, she had seemed so un-anchored, just floating about in a storm of bitterness, her passion for journalism extinguished. It was the same Rory he'd visited during her DAR days; then he'd tried his best to put her back together after he'd so carelessly broken her. A part of Jess hoped his suggestion to write a book was the cause for the electric flashes of the old Rory he was witnessing through the window and sprung from his jacket as she excitedly showed him the first three chapters of her book.

Feeling his gaze on her back – a sensation she remembered from back when Jess worked at Luke's and would watch her drink coffee from behind his book, feigning disinterest – Rory looked up and locked her blue eyes on his brown. Offering a friendly wave, her eyes drifted to the three chapters on the table and a smile escaped.

Just like that, the spell was broken and the laws of physics resumed their usual workings. Jess's feet carried him down the steps, a little less sure that it was long over.


	2. Full circle

CHAPTER 2: HISTORY REPEATS

As Jess drifts to sleep in the too small bed on 'his side' of Luke's old apartment, his mind wanders back to the shared look on the porch. It was a fleeting moment. Meaningless really. But, for whatever reason, it had unnerved him.

He hadn't thought about Rory in more than a cursory way, the way a sort of step cousin or old friend cares from a distance. It helped that he hadn't been in Stars Hollow at the same time as her for more than a day or two for a birthday or holiday. In the years since Philadelphia, whenever they met for coffee or a drink, it was on neutral territory – both skillfully avoided the taboo subject of their relationship. Eventually the awkwardness dissipated and their history faded into the past, as if they'd never been in madly in love.

As he lay there somewhere between the realms of awake and dreaming, her smile on the porch morphed into a different smile. Suddenly he was transported to the doorway of Rory's room. He hovers just outside, hesitantly. She turns around to face him, blue eyes wide and innocent as she studies him then offers a smile and a simple "Hey."

"Hey," he says, interpreting her greeting as permission to saunter further into the room. He peruses the books and takes notice of the Harvard keepsakes displayed on the wall.

"Wow, aren't we hooked on phonics."

"Oh, I read a lot. Do you read?"

"Not much."

That was a million years ago. He couldn't remember the last time they'd talked about authors or literary themes – using their shared passion for books as foreplay.

The wedding was beautiful; it was everything Rory had pictured for her mom and Luke. It was the happy ending they deserved after years of dancing around one another and then more years of stubbornness – a refusal to admit what they wanted or when they were wrong. It may have taken Paris's parade of 'breeders' – Rory shudders at the word – and her mom almost going 'wild' to get them there. But they made it.

Stirring in her tiny twin bed, staring at the Yale paraphernalia and books adorning her walls, Rory lets out a long sigh. She's grateful the wedding happened tonight so her news can't derail their wedded bliss. With her mom and Luke now officially husband and wife, there was no reason for her to keep this secret to herself any longer.

"I, Rory Gilmore, maker of lists and the beneficiary of birth control lectures since age 10, am having a Wookie's baby," she says out loud to no one.

The words sound strange as they leave her lips and float into a room that reminds her of the girl she was a million years ago. A girl who was more intrigued with the drama of books than boys with books, men with newspaper conglomerates and creatures with Star Wars fetishes.

"Mom, I'm pregnant," she chants over and over, a rehearsal of sorts, as she drifts to sleep.

As Jess rearranges decorations for the 'second wedding,' slightly irritated that no one thought to wake him, he hears Lorelai snicker. "Oh Rory, come on. You have to admit that the science behind hair genetics is fascinating."

Not finding the humour in her mom's allusion to Wookie fur, Rory stalks away from the gazebo with her arms wrapped protectively around her body. Lorelai slips into an unnatural silence. Jess hadn't imagined it possible for Lorelai to say anything less than 250 words a minute. Huh. Not wanting to partake in an awkward conversation, he busies himself with positioning the chuppah.

The next time Jess sees Rory she's standing alone under a familiar tree in a blue bridesmaid dress, far away from the laughter, music and festive atmosphere. The scene isn't lost on him. "It's as if time really does stand still in this town. History repeats itself," he growls before trudging downhill towards her.

"Hi."

"Hi,' she replies brusquely, words flying before she can temper her tone. "I'm sorry, that didn't come out right. Hi," she repeats softly.

"I, uh was just wondering if you wanted some company. If you don't, I can..."

Her brows furrow in concentration as she decides what to say next. For a quick second his eyes settle on her lips as he recalls their first kiss in this exact spot. As if reading his thoughts, she bites down on her lip, the movement bringing his attention back to her mouth yet again.

"Do you remember our first kiss?"

"Which one?' he smirks.

"Jess" she says exasperated and gestures to the scenery around them.

"Of course I do," he responds as his fingers unconsciously trace his mouth. "I'm just not sure why we're talking about it now."

"I'm pregnant!" she blurts out.

"Look Ror, I know I'm a good kisser, but 9 out of 10 doctors would agree that me kissing you 15 years ago isn't what got you pregnant," he chuckles. As quickly as the grin appeared, it's replaced with his usual mask of indifference. For reasons unknown to him, her revelation has left him feeling like a door has closed. A book is missing the last page.

"Don't worry. I've been informed. My mom gave me the birds and the bees talk a long time ago. Where am I going with this? Right. You're probably wondering what a … baby… has to do with our first kiss."

"I'm listening" is all he says. Jess steps closer to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. The contact causes her to jump back imperceptibly in response to a small current of electricity escaping his suit jacket where it brushed against her bare skin. He doesn't notice.

"I've made some bad life decisions recently. I'm pregnant. The father is a Wookie for crying out loud! I've been a mistress. Twice. My career is floundering and I can't bring myself to care. Everything my mom sacrificed for me, everything my grandparents did for me, Chilton, Yale, all of it just feels like wasted potential."

Rory stops to catch her breath. "If I'm going to be a mother, I need to be a better person. Writing this book is forcing me to take a critical look at my life. Maybe…maybe it'll help me pinpoint the moment I stopped knowing myself; when I stopped thinking for myself and became this person"

"Are you saying kissing me was the moment you fucked up your life?" Jess says in a low voice, afraid to hear the answer. Back then she had acted like it was a monumental mistake and disappeared to Washington without so much as a letter, phone call, smoke signal or fruit basket.

"That's not what I'm implying. Yes, it was the first time I cheated and I'm not proud of that. Impulsive, yes. But visiting you in New York and kissing you at Sookie's wedding are some of the few times I didn't run away from my feelings. Denial has always been a good friend of mine."

"It certainly took you long enough to end things with Bagboy," Jess laughs, reverting to his teenage self for a moment.

"My mom loved him. The 'perfect first boyfriend' who I had absolutely nothing in common with. But I was so afraid of admitting my feelings for you, of hurting Dean or disappointing my mom by taking up with the town hoodlum. In the end, I did more damage."

"And what do you want now, Rory?"

"I want to dance." With that he takes her hand in his and guides her back to the wedding.

 _A.N: I realize Rory would have been showing by fall if it was the Wookie's baby. I'd like to steer clear of the Logan drama, and it's funny to me so I'm going with it._


	3. Chipping Away

"You know, I can't not ask about the Wookie."

Rory felt him smile into her hair as they swayed together to _Walk Like an Egyptian_. His arms were wound tightly around her waist, careful not to venture below the curve of her hip, and her arms snaked around his neck. Neither could remember the last time they'd been this physically close. For the first time, Rory let herself take in how Jess's appearance had changed – his hair was longer, his arms muscular and his shoulders broader than she remembered, yet the way he held her was so familiar.

Jess had let Rory do most of the talking as they danced, interjecting every so often so she would know he was listening. He knew she needed to unload on someone who wouldn't judge so he did his best to keep an open mind and quell the anger that rose like bile at the mention of that blonde dick or Dean's ill-fated marriage and the part she'd played in its demise.

Since Rory's confession at the tree, something had shifted between them. By confiding in Jess and broaching the topic of their forbidden first kiss and old feelings, the safe emotional distance they'd constructed had been chipped at. Although ancient history, Rory's admission that her feelings for him had once been very real, scary even, made his heart speed up, which in turn left him feeling confused as to why it even mattered to him.

The ambiguity didn't stop him from flirting brazenly. Old habits die hard.

"I know your mom has probably questioned you in depth about this, but I can't help myself: Mask on or off?

Taking her silence as confirmation, Jess raised an eyebrow and let out a whistle before leaning closer to whisper, "Kinky, Rory." He hadn't intended it to sound quite so suggestive but as his breath warmed her ear, he felt her body press a little closer to his before burying her head in his neck to conceal her blush. "I just never pegged you as the type," he said innocently, raising his hands in surrender.

"This isn't a laughing matter, Jess. This kid is destined for life as an impossibly hairy circus performer, or worse, living evidence of the existence of Bigfoot," she replied with mock seriousness. Lowering her voice, "If you must know, no mask." Their eyes lingered half a second longer than what could be considered friendly before both quickly averted their attention back to the party around them.

Most everyone had gone home save for Kirk who was fretting over decorations. Petal had started munching a discarded bouquet.

"Thanks for dancing with me tonight. I know it's not exactly your thing."

"Hey, I wasn't doing you a favour. You think I could have survived five minutes out there alone with Miss Patty on the prowl? I should be thanking you, bodyguard. When I went to get punch she slipped me her room number."

Rory snickered. "And you didn't take her up on her offer? Does your girlfriend not approve of your noble profession?" She was curious about Jess's life. He hadn't mentioned a girlfriend, but then again, he never did like to talk about himself.

He was going to kill Luke. "Moonlighting as a gigolo didn't pay as well as Walmart," he deadpanned, choosing to purposefully ignore the subtext of Rory's question.

When he'd moved back to New York from Philly a few months ago to open a second Truncheon, he'd ended a semi-serious relationship; the feelings just didn't run deep enough to do the long-distance thing. But she didn't need to know that – Jess wanted to maintain his usual aloofness until he could figure this new Rory out. She was so different. Her life was a metaphorical trash fire; she'd behaved thoughtlessly and lacked focus, yet somehow she was still the same. _His Rory_. He mentally kicked himself for even thinking it.

"Shall we? It's getting late and I need to be back in New York tomorrow."

Arms linked, they walked home in companionable silence.

"Here we are," Rory chirped as Jess stopped at the front of the Dragonfly Inn. Lorelai had the foresight to book her a room so her and Luke could be alone on their wedding night.

"That we are..." said Jess, looking down at his shoes before interlacing their fingers. "We may not have been close for a while, but I like to think I still know you. This last year, that's not you. You can do anything, including turn your life around if you want to badly enough. If you need a friend to call you on your bullshit, shout at you for being an idiot – foreign languages optional – or even just someone to bounce book ideas off, I'm in your corner."

"I might just take you up on that. Thanks for having more faith in me than I can muster for myself right now,' she responded.

"No problem" he said with a nod, backing away and dropping her hands.

Night, Jess.


	4. Christiane Amanpour No More

Sitting in her dusty office at the Stars Hallow Gazette, Rory repeatedly smacked the side of her ancient computer, willing it to live another day. "I beg of you to let me get tomorrow's issue out – after that you can die, I promise," she cooed. "I've never missed a deadline and I'm not going to start now just because I'm younger than my electronics"

The Stars Hollow Gazette was a far cry from the adventures of the campaign trail, the gloss of celebrity profiles and rush of the Yale Daily News. Under Paris's tutelage, even the Franklin proved to be more stimulating. When Rory first envisioned becoming a journalist, she pictured herself seeing the world up close and making a difference – being a part of something bigger than herself. Today, her world felt very small. She was back in her childhood bedroom. Spending her days arguing with Taylor about poetry and journalistic integrity or catching up on small town gossip with her number one informant, Miss Patty, wasn't what she'd had in mind when she set out to be the next Christiane Amanpour.

Like her comfortable long-term relationship with Dean that almost fit but wasn't not quite right, admitting she didn't want journalism anymore made her feel unsafe, naked. So, naturally, Rory ignored the nagging feeling and set out more determinedly than ever before to make it work. Naively, she thought swooping in to salvage the Gazette would rescue her dreams at the same time.

The computer, the Gazette, Stars Hollow. It was futile. Exasperated, she threw her hands in the air before resting her head face down on her desk. "Stupid computer."

"You're cute when you argue with inanimate objects," came a deep voice from the doorway. Turning, Rory spied Jess leaning confidently against the wall, his arms crossed in front of him and lips pulled into a crooked smile. He was effortlessly sexy. _The things he could do to me on my desk_. Rory mentally kicked herself.

"How much of that did you hear, Dodger?"

"Enough to know that you're losing it Gilmore," he teased, sliding into the chair across from her. Leaning in, he studied her face for a few seconds finding equal parts frustration and something else… he couldn't put his finger on it.

"I'm glad you're here," she exhaled, immediately relaxing in his presence. "I'm stuck. When I first started Gilmore Girls, it was like sitting down and opening a vein. Telling the story of how my mom left the privileges of Hartford for a potting shed just flowed out of me. Now I'm all dried up. I'm never giving that liar Ernst another chance."

"Hey, don't go dragging Ernst into this. He has nothing but nice things to say about you," Jess scoffed, recalling their picnic on the bridge. "It seems to me you have a mean case of writer's block. Don't beat yourself or Hemingway up over it."

"I just thought telling my story would give me some perspective, but I can't seem to find myself on the page. The sequence of events is easy, I lived it, but figuring out what any of it means in the big picture of my life, not so much."

"Come with me."

Rory's eyes widened. "What?"

"To New York. Just for a few days to get out of your head."

"I have a paper to run." Suddenly feeling vulnerable, Jess watched as Rory began drafting a mental pro-con list while choruses of 'no, no, nos' echoed in his mind.

"Alright, when do we leave?" she replied breezily. That was easy.

"Up to you editor and chief. I can read manuscripts anywhere, and if I come back with an up-and-coming author to boot, people might think I was working," he smirked.

"Flattery won't get you anywhere… not that I think you are trying to get somewhere with me. That came out wrong. I just meant that I'm hardly a writer." Rambling was always one of her most endearing qualities.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"This place is amazing, Jess," Rory breathed, twirling like a little kid as she marvelled at the floor to ceiling bookshelves lining every wall of Truncheon New York. "And it's all yours."

"Done ogling my books?"

A beat passed. The double entendre hadn't been lost on either of them.

"Jess, you should be so proud of what you've accomplished, and if you aren't, I'll just have to be proud enough for the two of us. Really, this place is perfect; it's exactly where you belong."

"You can put your pompoms away now, Rory." All he'd ever wanted to do was prove that her faith in him hadn't be misplaced. Now that he had made something of his life, he it felt right to share it with her, even though her praise still made him uncomfortable.

"Am I making you blush? I made Jess Mariano, Stars Hollow bad boy, blush!" she squealed, blue eyes bright.

Grinning, Jess stepped closer to her and gripped her wrists. "Pompoms…" He pulled her hands gently behind her back and held them in place "… Away." Rory inhaled sharply. Jess was now so close that she could feel his pulse quicken.

Mindful that he was probably violating some rule of ex-boyfriend/friend etiquette, he broke away and took a seat on the reading room's navy couch. After regaining her composure, Rory moved to the arm chair facing him.

"When did you know that you wanted to be a writer?"

"Growing up, books were my escape. I could travel the country with Kerouac, fall in love with Austen and go to war with Hemmingway and forget about … the less savory parts of my life. I never thought I would actually amount to anything until, well…" he trailed off. "You know the rest." Her hand brushed his cheek tenderly, knowing it was difficult for him to talk about his past.

"It's so obvious now. The margin notes – you were always an editor."

"What about you, when did you know you wanted to be a journalist?" Silence. "Did I say something wrong, Ror?"

"No. I… that's sort of why I'm stuck. I don't know how to write about the dreams that put me on the path to the Ivey League – it's the whole crux of the story because it's what prompted my mom to call my grandma and how the Gilmore Girls became three. As far back as I can remember, the plan had been Christiane Amanpour. I went forever with this vision for my life and never questioned once where it came from or if it was right for me. You were the first person to challenge me on it. You and Mitchum."

"Rory, listen to me. There is a big difference between asking if you were ready to crawl around in trenches and whether you could actually do it. I never doubted you could do it, if it's what you wanted. You're an extraordinary journalist and proved Mitchum wrong a hundred times over."

"I've fallen out of love with journalism. I think it's been that way for a while and I couldn't admit it and let people down who invested so much in my dream. You knew it wasn't me before I did. You got me to go back to Yale. It was also your idea to write Gilmore Girls. You're like my Yoda," Rory said wiping away a tear.

"Always a Yoda, never a Wookie," said Jess, a smidge envious of the stranger who would be half of Rory's child. Locking eyes with Rory, he said sincerely, "We're even then. Because I couldn't have done this…" gesturing to his business, "without you."

With that Jess got up to check on some work emails. From his desk her watched Rory sit cross legged on the floor and surround herself with dozens of books. In that quintessentially Rory moment, it hit him: _It's not long over. I'm in love with Rory; always have been._


	5. No place like Oz

_A/N: This chapter is a little short but I decided to break it into two parts. The second half should be up by the end of the weeken_ d.

For Jess, it was like living all your life in black and white, being spun about and tossed into the strange, technicolour world of Oz; every look, subtle touch and interaction he shared with Rory was now coloured by the all-pervading lens of love.

Two days ago, before his awakening, he was attracted to Rory but he didn't feel an overriding impulse to act on it. Now his mind raced like he was 17-year-old, eager to feel the weight of his body on hers. He couldn't help but scrutinize her every word and facial expression, searching for signs she felt the same way he did. He'd always been able to read Rory – if she was a subject in school, he'd have gone to every class and aced it – but now he was out of practice.

More importantly, before his heart recklessly decided to rekindle the flame, he could talk to Rory for hours about her career, book, motherhood and the precipice she was straddling. Now, everything was intensified. No longer a just bystander or confidant, he was utterly invested in outcome of her budding self-awareness because he hoped, eventually, it would lead her back to him.

 _How could I not have seen this coming_? Jess scolded himself. He should have known he was on the road to Oz when he'd been rooted to Lorelai's porch, spellbound. Maybe then, he'd have stayed clear; it's too bad he had a heart instead of a brain. Here she was, in his apartment, with him, looking to him like he had all the answers. Yet, he didn't have the courage to voice the one question he desperately wanted to ask: _do you still love me; could you ever love me again_?

"Earth to Jess!" Rory's voice broke through his daze. Jess ran a hand through his hair and put his book face down, open to where he'd left off. She'd been relaxing on the couch with her feet resting in his lap – a posture she'd taken up anytime they read together.

"Huh?"

"What do you think about the teaching job at Chilton? Your opinion matters to me," she stated earnestly. It seemed that a year's worth of disastrous choices had robbed Rory's confidence in her own judgement and, for some reason, in its place, she trusted his completely.

"Show me the list, Ror," Jess said with an eye roll.

He was rewarded with a wide grin. Rory scampered to Jess's bedroom, rummaging through her belongings. He normally would have been irritated if anyone else's stuff had taken residence in every room of his apartment, yet he didn't hate it; there was something that felt right about his home looking lived in by her.

A minute later, Rory skipped back to him with neatly folded, two-page list weighing the positives and negatives of the offer. She'd been so sure that Headmaster Charleston only offered her the job out of pity. Her talk with Jess earlier this week was causing her to reconsider; she'd been wrong about a lot of other things.

Jess took the list from her outstretched hand. As he scanned the list, Rory watched a myriad of emotions play on his face – some list items warranted a grin or laughter, while others earned a head shake or scowl. "You're overthinking this," Jess said, tearing apart the list. Rory watched in disbelief as the paper flecks fell to the floor like snow.

"Jess!"

"Rory!"

"This isn't funny."

"God, you're no fun when you're tense." Delicately removing her feet from his lap, Jess crawled to Rory's end of the couch, he kneeled over her. "Such a pouty face," he chuckled, pinching her cheeks affectionately.

It was such a rare thing for him to be so unabashedly silly; the Jess she remembered almost always wore a mask of indifference. In Stars Hollow, this side of Jess was reserved for only her. So, rather than lash out in retaliation, Rory inspected his eyes, memorizing the little bits of gold that permeated the brown when he laughed. His eyes caught hers and neither looked away, his hands relaxing their grip to cup her face.

She bit her lip. It was too much for him.

Like shrapnel, Jess flew off the couch. "Want to get some coffee? We can pick up where we left off… about the job."

Nothing like coffee to distract a Gilmore Girl.


	6. Notes in the Margins

Jess had regressed to monosyllables since his abrupt craving for coffee set them out on a journey to find New York's best. As they walked side by side through the busy streets, carefully observing their boots and passersby, never each other, Rory wondered if maybe down one the alleyways, she'd lost him. She stole a look at Jess, hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket and long hair tucked behind his ear. For a moment at the apartment, Rory was certain Jess was going to kiss her. She was also certain that's why he was acting cagey. What she didn't know is whether she felt relief or disappointment that he hadn't.

His hand was on her lower back now, guiding her into a dark café. The sharp smell of coffee invaded Rory's senses as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and Jess's touch. The place had faded red brick walls which were covered in posters of punk bands and filled with writers and musicians, along with the odd mustached hipster.

"Do you come here a lot? I can totally picture you writing here."

"On occasion."

"I like it."

"I thought you would," he replied.

"About earlier…"

"Don't know about you, but I'm starving."

"It just seemed like we were…"

"I hear the sandwiches are good here."

"Officially evasive."

"They make a mean pastry, too."

Rory caved, knowing it was pointless to push him to talk. "A cup of coffee sounds amazing. Oh, do they have pie? I hope they have pie."

Finding an empty table, she slung her purse strap over the back of the chair. As she slipped off her coat, Jess's eyes travelled to her waist. Rory's long-sleeved blue dress clung to the contours of her body and for the first-time Jess could make out the small bump of her stomach.

"None of my clothes fit any more," she explained, knowing exactly what had caught his attention.

"Oh yea, it's like you're the second coming of Nayda Suleman," Jess said wryly.

Rory gave her best withering stare even though she was secretly relieved; his usual sarcasm signaling that his mood had lifted.

"Oh come on, it was a little bit funny," he said. "And, if I was staring, not saying I was, it's only because you look… beautiful." The last word came out protracted and husky.

Before she could say anything, Rory spotted someone unexpected heading their way. "Oh my God, ohmygod … the Wookie! Jess, the Wookie is coming over here!"

Jess followed Rory's terrified gaze to a slender guy in his mid-twenties with a blonde man-bun and a Stars Wars shirt peeking out from under his green apron. He must be new because Jess didn't recognize him as one of the regular baristas. "So that's the infamous Chewbacca. I pictured him much taller, bigger, hairier for some reason."

"He's going to see me… like this," she said gesturing to her stomach. "What if he recognizes me and does the math? I never thought I would see him again. I'm not ready for that conversation. You need to hide me."

She frantically grasped Jess's waist, pulling him into a kiss just as the man approached their table. Jess instinctively wrapped his arms around Rory and deepened the kiss, shielding her. In response, she parted her lips and pulled him even closer, her hands roaming from his back to his hair, which caused Jess to stumble forward and push her body roughly against the table. Acutely aware they were in a public place, Jess placed one last chaste kiss on her lips, trailing his fingers down the length of her body and finally separating from a breathless Rory. The Wookie was safely on the other side of the café now – crisis averted.

"Well, that was quite the performance," Jess smirked. "Very convincing."

"That was… you were… Thank you for playing along," a flustered Rory rambled. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have done that. You must think I'm a lunatic."

"Hey, I'm not complaining. Just promise me that the next time you kiss me like that it won't be because of some other guy." He winked and headed to the counter to order. _Next time?_ Rory hide her face in a menu, not willing to risk another run in with the father of her fetus.

Behind the counter, the blonde man went about preparing their drinks and food, handing Jess a takeout bag and two steaming cups a few minutes later. Unable to resist the urge, Jess quipped, "Thanks Chewy." The man shot a bewildered look as Jess strode back to Rory, grinning to himself.

"Let's never speak of this again," Rory said sheepishly, referring to both their kiss and close encounter with the Wookie.

"Okay," he acquiesced. This wasn't his first Rory Gilmore kiss and run.

With that, he draped an arm protectively over her shoulder as they headed back into the cold.

Jess had second guessed himself earlier today, but the way Rory kissed him just now made him confident his feelings weren't unrequited. But Rory had always been slow to realize what it is she wanted and even slower to act. In high school, persistence had paid off. This time patience seemed like the best course of action, after all, Rory had far more complicated things to figure. He would wait.

o0o0oo0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Curling up on the couch with a stack of books was quickly becoming a nighttime ritual. Rory and Jess sat on either side of the couch, their feet meeting and mingling in the middle. Jess was sticking to his word and had so far avoided mentioning their searing kiss, although his choice of reading material wasn't helping his cause. Every so often, he'd look up from his Pablo Neruda and shoot Rory a flirtatious smile. She'd been watching him, too. Jess knew this much because whenever he'd peek at her, Rory would quickly divert her gaze, a slight blush on her cheeks, and pretend to be completely absorbed in an ancient copy of Anna Karenina she'd found in a used bookstore a few blocks from the now dreaded café.

"Enough with the eyebrows mister," said Rory, lightly kicking Jess.

"I want to concentrate, but did I just see you smell your book?"

"I can't help it, it's old! The pages have this certain weathered feel and smell like they've lived…"

"They smell like history," Jess finished for her, nodding in agreement.

"Exactly! If you understand the appeal, then why the looks?" Staying true to their agreement, Jess chose to circle back to their earlier conversation about Rory's career.

"You know who gets to handle lots of old books? Literature teachers at prestigious prep schools."

"Chilton," she murmured.

"Have you thought more about the job?"

"I think I'm going to take it."

"Good. I knew you would figure it out," he said squeezing her hand. "The only thing I've ever seen get you more excited than books is school. It's perfect for you."

"Thanks, Jess."

"Just think, now you can foist crazy authors on a new generation of innocent teenagers."

"From what I recall, you were never an innocent teenager," Rory said matter-of-factly. "Who knows, maybe I'll add J. Mariano to the reading list. Something tells me the author isn't nearly as enamored by school."

"You wouldn't." Jess's eyes went wide.

"I would." A mischievous glint coloured Rory's blue eyes.

"Please promise me you'll at least spare them Rand."

"I'll think about it."

After all these years of passing in and out of each other's lives, their banter never skipped a beat; their chemistry unfaltering.

Easing back into a companionable silence, Rory alternated between reading and studying Jess. His head was cocked sideways in concentration, scribbling cramped notes in the margins of his book. It was so quintessentially Jess, _her_ Dodger. His hand moving fast across the page, Rory couldn't help but think about how far Jess had come from a boy with a chip on his shoulder to a sought-after author. When he'd solved her Oliver Twist reference without hesitation, she knew he was different. And when she'd read his margin notes for the first time, gotten a glimpse into his beautiful mind, she fell in love. Knowing Jess was never one to verbalize his feelings, his margin notes were a precious gift.

"Heading out tomorrow?" Jess asked, putting his book of poems on the coffee table.

"Yea, I need to make sure all the faulty electronics haven't burnt down the Gazette."

"How about the book? Did the change of scenery help with your writer's block?"

"It's exactly what I needed, Jess. I can feel the words bubbling to the surface as we speak."

Rory didn't know what it was about being here with him that had her discovering pieces of herself, pieces she supposed Jess had known were there all along.

Gratified by her answer, Jess headed to the bathroom to get ready for bed. As soon as he closed the door, Rory took Jess's abandoned book off the coffee table, flipping through the pages and tracing the fresh margin notes with her finger tip. Looking up one last time to ensure she was alone, Rory stealthy placed the book in her duffel bag.

 **A.N: Apologies for the almost kiss in the last chapter, I hope this one was worth the wait. I haven an inkling her weekend with Jess has her inspired to write the** ** _Jess and Rory, the Early Years_** **chapter of her book.**


	7. A biological interrogation

**A.N: I wanted to write a Paris freak out, so this short chapter is a fun interlude while I write the main story. I've never written Paris, but decided to have her over the top.**

Before leaving New York, Rory decided to take a short detour to Paris's townhouse of many staircases. When she shared the news of her pregnancy, Paris predictably responded with compassionate rage, zeroing in on the fact that Rory had the father in her sights and hadn't launched a biological interrogation.

"You are so irresponsible!"

"I was on the pill."

"I don't mean the sex, Gilmore. What I find thoughtless is the fact that you know absolutely nothing about the quality of this guy's genetic material and still decided to procreate. Do you know this guy's blood type, does he have a family history of diabetes, heart disease, addiction or a genetic disorder that could be gestating in your womb as we speak?"

"This," said Rory gesturing at her bump, "was not intentional."

"And when the perfect opportunity presents itself to request his medical history, you suck face with Kerouac!" A smug smile escaped Rory's lips at the mention of her kiss with Jess.

"What was I supposed to do Paris, walk over and say 'hey, remember that time we had sex' and hope he does, because it would be incredibly humiliating if he didn't … And ask him to fill out a lengthy medical questionnaire on the spot? This would require me to actually tell him I'm pregnant. Should I be telling him?" Rory rambled.

"Please, he's essentially a sperm donor." Softening, Paris added, "If you'd come to me, I would have given you the best sperm."

"I don't need sperm."

"Well, clearly not anymore!" yelled Paris, arms thrashing.

"Should I pluck a Wookie hair and send it to your lab for testing?" Rory joked.

"It's preferable to nothing," Paris replied, completely serious. "If you give me permission, I can go to that dirty beatnik café right now and pretend I want his sperm for my clinic, entice him into giving up the goods for big money."

"It's okay, really."

"Congratulations, by the way. For what it's worth, you'll be a great mom. You've always had that nurturing, Disney princess thing going on that kids really respond to," Paris said, awkwardly embracing Rory. The girls had been best friends since high school, but Paris had never been one for sentimentality.

"Thanks Paris."

"And, you could do worse than Kerouac—I just hope he's a more rigorous editor than his literary idol."

"Oh, Jess and I aren't…"

"Yet."

Rory hadn't ever considered she'd have the option to tell the father; it was a foolish, one-night tryst with a guy she had been casually calling a Wookie before learning his name. Now that she knew where to locate the Wookie—whose nametag suggested she could call him Greg—did it make her a bad person to never tell him, even if only for practical, medical reasons?

One more thing to add her to growing list of 'it's complicated.'

And then there was Jess… Jess who kissed her like she was his oxygen.


	8. Poets, they know all about it

Two weeks later, Rory was staring defiantly at the volume of Pablo Neruda poems she'd abducted – the book, perched on the corner of her bed, was beckoning her to pry open its cover so it could tell her its secrets. Something had compelled her to take it – maybe nostalgia, book fodder for her 'Rory and Jess the Early Years' chapters, or possibly, more than likely, she felt something.

 _Love, huh?_

She could hear his words from Philadelphia. But despite the siren song of Jess's scrawl, the gravity of the book's insides felt a little too heavy. There is sat, daring her to open it and in so doing open herself up to his heartbeat.

 _Passion, is that even a thing?_ It had been more than a few years since she'd experienced an emotion other than apathy. Instead of delving into the machinery of her heart, she did the adult equivalent of plugging her ears and chanting 'I can't hear you.' His lips – I can't taste you. His eyes – I can't see you watching me. His hands on her - I can't feel you.

Rory was nothing if not industrious in her avoidance. She convinced Taylor to pay her and negotiated a deal with Chilton that would allow her to teach part time after the baby was born and full time once her book was finished. She scheduled her doctor appointments and began looking for somewhere to live. She wrote three more chapters, right up until Jess's breathless ' _I love you'_ before hitting a road-block.

The irony that she was running was not lost on her. Teenage Rory had been reluctant to fall in love with Jess, and then, once she had, she stubbornly refused to admit it until being dumped very publicly. He'd run to New York and her to Washington. Him to California and her to Europe. She'd literally run serpentine around the town square before Jess uttered those three words and ran, yet again. When he finally asked her to run with him, she said no. It was obvious that neither of them knew how to love properly back then.

 _Poets know all about it, right?_

Neruda would be a good place to start she thought, absentmindedly running her hand over the book's simple cover.

"Hun, I don't mean to interrupt the staring contest you're having with your book. Are you okay?" said Lorelai, collapsing beside Rory on her twin bed.

"It's not my book. I stole it," replied Rory dejectedly.

"And now it's beating like a Tell-Tale Heart?"

"Something like that… I took it from Jess. I don't even know why I did it!" she cried. "I went to visit him in New York for a change of scenery to cure my writer's block. We went to get coffee and I kissed him to hide from the Wookie, then I stole his book. I don't know what came over me, it's like I had a stroke or was possessed by the spirit of Jack Dawkins."

"Okay, that's a lot to unpack. Let's start with the Wookie."

"I saw Greg – that's the Wookie's name by the way – and freaked out. I didn't know what to say to him about the baby if he recognized me. So…"

"So naturally, you kissed Jess."

"It wasn't a kiss-kiss. It was more of a diversion, to distract from my ever-expanding womb."

"Uh-huh. And kissing Jess just happened to lead to grand theft _love_ poems?"

"Those are the facts your Honor. What's my sentence?"

"Okay, I'm having a serious case of déjà vu. Tell me if any of this sounds familiar: You impulsively go to New York to see Jess and come home claiming to have had a stroke. It's like my graduation all over again, so I'll tell you the same thing I did then. Honey, maybe you are falling for Jess."

Exhaling, Rory fell back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "Can I appeal?"

Lorelai conspiratorially whispers, "Sorry kid, my rulings are final." Like a tornado powered by caffeine, she kisses Rory's cheek and bounces out of the room singing "Rory and Jess sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G." Rory laughs to herself, long gone are the days when Jess was the kid who broke her daughter's wrist and heart.

Really, a lot had changed. Rory used to question what Jess could possibly know about love when he was the one to leave. Yet, everything he'd done since proves he did, and maybe still does love her. Delicately turning the pages of the contraband Neruda, Rory considers that perhaps Jess had consulted the poets after all. And if she was honest with herself, she wanted to be the one he wrote about in the margins when he read about love.

The first thing Rory noticed was a mix of underlines, rushed pencil she recognized as young Jess's writing and a more confident scrawl in fresh black ink. The penciled notes often spoke of lost or undeserved love while the black prose were hopeful and ripe with maturity.

There was one poem Jess had revisited quite a few times, "Tonight I can write."

 _Tonight I can write the saddest lines._  
 _I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too._

 _Through nights like this one I held her in my arms._  
 _I kissed her again and again under the endless sky._

 _She loved me, sometimes I loved her too._  
 _How could one not have loved her great still eyes._

 _Tonight I can write the saddest lines._  
 _To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her._

 _To hear the immense night, still more immense without her._  
 _And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture._

 _What does it matter that my love could not keep her._  
 _The night is starry and she is not with me._

 _This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance._  
 _My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her._

 _My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer._  
 _My heart looks for her, and she is not with me._

 _The same night whitening the same trees._  
 _We, of that time, are no longer the same._

 _I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her._  
 _My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing._

 _Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses._  
 _Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes._

 _I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her._  
 _Love is so short, forgetting is so long.*_

 _Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms_  
 _my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her._

 _Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer_  
 _and these the last verses that I write for her._

In pencil, Jess's scribbles read: "She might have loved me. Tonight, I write and she is my muse." Later he amended, "She's another's."

In his black prose, he simply wrote: I tried to forget, but I most definitely still love her."

Tonight, Rory would also write of love fiercely with Neruda and Jess's musings propelling her forward, their history untangling. It all made sense now. Running was no longer an option.

 **A.N. When I read this poem, I felt like it spoke to so many points in time in their relationship such as the searching for her across the distance after he left for California and her finding another after she visited him at Truncheon. Thanks to everyone who reads and reviews - it means a lot!**


	9. Then she appeared

It had been happening all morning—customers stuttering their orders or cowering ever so slightly behind menus whenever he walked over to refill their coffee cups. To them he would always be a punk kid in a leather jacket who at any moment could deliver a scathing retort, brutal mocking or hold a gnome hostage. Although Jess still wore a leather jacket, and wrecked the occasional wireless router in outrage, he'd ditched the attitude somewhere in Philadelphia a decade ago.

Despite his maturation, he couldn't repress a swell of childish pride from erupting when Kirk walked through the door only to pirouette right back out in one seamless movement. Oblivious to the applause of Miss Patty, who quickly took credit for the lunatic's ballet flair, Jess leans on the counter with a book and smirk to wait for her.

He hadn't heard from Rory in the two weeks since she'd returned to Stars Hollow. It had not escaped his attention that the Pablo Neruda mysteriously disappeared with her, which only fed his nervousness as he thought about her reading his margin notes. The pilfered book and kiss coupled with her vanishing act could mean one of two things: Rory felt the same electricity he did, like protons and electrons drawn together by some universal law that she was determined to study before allowing them to finally collide; or he'd wildly misjudged the intensifying lure between them.

If Jess was going to wait for her to come to him, he may as well increase the odds by situating himself in proximity to her lifeblood. So, he did what any self-respecting adult would do: he told his business partners about an author in Connecticut that he _had_ to see and drove three hours to pour her coffee. ' _It's not a total fabrication_ ,' Jess thought, longingly watching the door. ' _Rory is writing a book.'_

"Quit scaring off the customers," Luke grumbles, emerging from the kitchen and putting his newly acquired cellphone in his back pocket. The older man acted at annoyance, but the glint in his eye gave away just how much he relished the terror his nephew incited, especially in Taylor and Kirk.

Placing his hand over his heart in pretend hurt, Jess smirks, "Hey, you know what they say, like uncle like nephew."

"Yea, yea," says Luke, brushing off Jess's familial ribbing. Though veiled in sarcasm, Luke knew it was Jess's unique way of saying he looks up to him. "Kirk did run get out of here pretty fast. Almost as fast as Taylor's petition to ban you from Stars Hollow is spreading."

"Another petition? I'm flattered, really," drawls Jess with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

His smirk disappears and is replaced with an earnest expression. "Luke, can I ask you something important?" Nodding supportively, Luke takes a seat next to his nephew and offers his full attention. He's slightly unnerved by Jess's uncharacteristically sincere tone.

With a captive audience, Jess swiftly changes course, his eyes coming alive with amusement. "Are Kirk and Taylor related? Because I once heard this racy rumour about Taylor and Ms. Gleason. And don't even get me started with those weird night terrors they're both prone to." Thoroughly enjoying the battling expressions of relief and confusion sprouting on his uncle's face, he continues to weave his tale. "I once heard Kirk say he thought Taylor was his father, or was it that he loved him like a father? Anyways, in my humble opinion, their eerie civic pride tips the scales."

Luke considers the absurdity of it all for a few seconds before letting out a full bellied laugh. "It would explain why Taylor hasn't killed Kirk yet… So, uh, why don't you let the editor of the Gazette know your theory? I hear you're pretty close these days."

Subtlety was never Luke's strength; he'd always rather get to the point and he sensed Jess wasn't in Stars Hollow solely to torment Kirk. The procession of stolen glances in the direction of the Gilmore house only confirmed his suspicions.

"Yup." Jess trains his eyes on his paperback.

"That's all you're going to say?"

"Nothing to say."

"So, that's still over?"

"Luke, why don't _you_ get over it, move on?" Jess scoffs with a wave of his hand for emphasis.

"Have _you_?" Luke replies, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Jess admits quietly, looking around to ensure no one is eavesdropping. "I really believed I'd moved on, but Rory and I, we've been getting closer and I've been helping her figure some things out. When she was in New York it hit me – I still love her. I think she might feel the same way."

"For what it's worth, you're good for her and good enough for her. I've always thought so."

"What, no rules about how close we can stand? Or a lecture about how I better not hurt her?"

Luke laughs recalling the system he'd devised to prevent the scourge of teenage pregnancy—a system that was now obsolete considering Rory and Jess weren't teenagers and a Wookie had beaten Jess to the impregnating part. "You know it's not the same now, right?"

Jess nods. He knows it's different this time. He's not that same scared kid acting out and waiting for her to notice him. There's no safe beanstalk boyfriend to run back to because somehow, against all odds, he's become the guy Rory turns to – the perfect union of friction and dependability she craves.

"Just promise me one thing. When you tell her how you feel this time, don't drive away." Luke pulls Jess in for a brief hug, patting him on the back just as the bell above the diner entrance jingles.

Then she appears, her penetrating blue eyes wide in surprise. "Jess," she exhales, unable to fathom how she'd gone the last two weeks without breathing him in.

Jess's heart is beating in his ears and he wonders if its's possible she's gotten more beautiful in the days and hours since he saw her last and, furthermore, how she still manages to evoke this response in him. "Rory," he murmurs.

They stay there, rooted in place, looking at each in wonderment from across the diner; a palpable current of trepidation and yearning coursing between them.

"And there you have it ladies and gentleman – episode 1 of Rory and Jess the later years, just as weird and uncomfortable for the rest of us as the original," quips Lorelai, who had trailed in behind Rory. "Thanks for the hot tip diner man," she says, winking at her fiancé.

"Taylor's petition would have reached you eventually," he mutters."

"You got any popcorn?"

 **A.N. I love the Luke-Jess dynamic, especially in later seasons when its more apparent how much they care about each other in their own gruff way. I also read a theory that Taylor is Kirk's dad, which sounds plausible. I couldn't not include it.**


	10. Like a dare at Doose's

**I want to apologize for the long wait. My day job involves a lot of writing and can sap my creativity dry if I'm up against deadlines. My dad had some pretty serious health issues that have been stressful and consuming. He's doing better and I'm back!**

The world had momentarily faded into the background and it was just the two of them. Rory and Jess. Sinking and floating as they stood on their respective sides of the diner, appraising the other for some sign on what to do next. For two authors, they were terrible with words when they mattered. Silence spilled over into insecurity.

Jess wasn't sure what to expect when he'd shown up in Stars Hollow uninvited. Well, he knew what he'd imagined: Rory crossing the diner and dragging him up the stairs and pressing her lithe body against his; he'd show her with his hands and mouth and entire being that he had no intention of ever running again. Admittedly, his expectations were rooted in fantasy but surely reality had to involve more than an intense staring contest?

"Um, Luke, why don't we go for a walk?" Lorelai said, not so subtlety. Linking arms, she guided her husband out of the diner and set the sign to closed. "Bye daughter of mine!" she called as the bell jingled.

"Huh, what? Oh, bye mom."

Slightly embarrassed by her accidental mannequin challenge, Rory gingerly took a seat at the counter. She was grateful to have a menu to occupy her hands. Her eyes didn't need to leave the beat-up laminate that she'd long ago memorized to know that his eyes were all over her.

"Coffee?" Jess asked, one eye brow raised as he passed her a steaming mug before she could answer.

"Mmm Jess, you know me so well," Rory cooed appreciatively as the coffee touched her lips.

"So, what have you been reading lately?"

"A little poetry, actually," said Rory cautiously, eyes fixed on the hot black liquid in her cup.

"Huh. Anything good?"

"Neruda."

"Weird. My copy mysteriously disappeared recently."

"Definitely weird," she agreed, avoiding eye contact.

"How was it? Dull. Foolish. Flattering. Surprising. Romantic. Painful? Embarrassing? Its unlike you to not to have an opinion about literature."

To some, this could be mistaken as innocent banter between literati, but Rory knew better – there was a dare concealed in his questions. It's like they were seventeen again, bickering in Doose's market, challenging each other to give into the tension lingering between the aisles. Rory had two choices: she could acknowledge his margin notes and what they meant to her, what he meant to her, or she could continue to play dumb like a coward.

" _Tonight I can write_ was my favourite," she said finally, meeting his eyes.

"Is that so." He stepped closer to her. A shadow of a crooked smile, the one he reserved for her, returning to his face.

"It broke my heart open and made it whole at the same time," she said earnestly. "The way the author loves her despite distance, time and reason, and despite himself and despite wanting to forget. It's incredibly romantic." He took another step towards her.

"You weren't supposed to read the notes" Jess murmured. "Not yet."

"I like to think this thing between us started with your notes, Dodger." Rory closed the gap between them. She tenderly brushed a stray strand of his hair out of his eyes. He rested his hands on her hips.

"You know it's not the same now as it was then. A lot has happened. I don't think I can take you rejecting me again. You kissed me in New York and asked me to forget it happened. My soul is laid bare in that book and you don't call me for weeks."

"You're right. I had no business invading your privacy like that. But it helped put everything into perspective. I'm not running anymore, Jess. You can take my word for it, or you can read this." Rory reached into her purse and pulled out a thick stack of papers.

He leafed through the papers, reverently. "You finished your novel?"

"It appears so. Let's just say I had some inspiration from my good friend Neruda and a notorious book defacer," Rory replied with a wink.

Jess was grinning now and gathered Rory in his arms, spinning her around and pulling her to his chest. He breathed her in and kissed her temple. "Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life," murmured Jess, quoting Neruda.

"When I lifted my eyes to your name, suddenly your heart showed me my way," she quoted back. "You've been popping in and out of my life, always there to challenge me and remind me of who I am when I've veered off my path. If my story were a work of fiction, you'd be the love story, Jess. It became pretty obvious about halfway through writing, and completely undeniable after reading your margin notes."

Jess withdrew from the embrace and laced their fingers together and rested his forehead against hers. When he found her eyes, they were looking back at him desirously. He felt it too, this primal need to be inside her, right now. But it was more than that – he saw love in her eyes. It was unmistakable. It's how she'd looked at him before he left for California, before the fight with Dean and the failing grades. Except now, she wasn't naïve or shy, but knowing and confident.

Rory knotted her fists in his shirt and pulled him down to her mouth. He groaned softly, his arms circling her as he kissed her back fervently. She can feel all of him pressed against her. Her hands are everywhere. He doubts there could be any feeling in the world more perfect than this. She thinks every other kiss in her life had been wrong.

"I told you there'd be a next time," Jess he says, smirking against her parted lips.

"You've always known."

"Since the first time I saw you."

 **Ridiculously cheesy chapter, I know.**


	11. A book, a boy and a bus station

The seats were itchy and her legs cramping. "It's only 120 miles," he'd said. "Less than 3 hours," he'd promised. Mumbling to herself about Jess's Yahoo skills not accounting for comfort, because who even uses Yahoo anymore, Rory flexed her feet as far in front of her as she could. Her fingers anxiously tapped on the window in time with her iPod. She didn't remember the bus from Hartford to New York being so unbearably uncomfortable – or long. Hell, she'd braved 12-hour bus rides between campaign stops for months, fueled by coffee and the newness of being a _real_ reporter. Pregnant, the bus was a entirely different experience. Truthfully, half of the battle was physically containing her excitement of returning to New York, and Jess.

Rory watched, forehead pressed to the window, as the city came into view. It felt like a lifetime ago that this place had been her dream – a competitive, news-hungry metropolis filled with more possibility than could fit into her first shoebox apartment. Those first few years of independence, chasing stories and living on takeout were irreplaceable. That was before she'd realized that it wasn't everything she'd ever wanted after all.

Print journalism was a dying medium by the time she'd begun. Non-stop buses and flights, couldn't compare to home; seeing her words on a screen to feeling them on paper; and an affair with an old love nothing compared to being in love. It may have taken mediocre sex with a Wookie source and an unplanned pregnancy to understand that she'd been chasing the wrong dream all along. She didn't regret it.

She checked her phone – another half an hour to go and a text message, from Jess.

"I miss you. Hurry up and get here."

She smiled to herself and simultaneously swore that the driver had maliciously taken a serious of wrong turns and to torment her. Just another half an hour. Her legs were cramped. Just another twenty minutes. Her fingers tapped the glass impatiently. Just another 15 minutes.

As the city loomed larger and larger, it no longer represented her naivety nor squandered opportunities. In her briefcase, there was a book, the one about her life and baby. And at the station, she had a man who loved her waiting.

He spotted her immediately as she stepped off the bus, her blue eyes scanning the station and her long hair swept up into a ponytail. He'd always had a sixth sense when it came to her. Casually leaning against a brick wall, Jess watched her for a few more seconds before making his way through the crowd to gather her up in his arms.

"Hi Dodger"

"How are you doing?

"Good. How about you?"

"Good."

"Now that we've got that out of the way," he said with a laugh. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me, too. I must say, you waiting for me here sure beats trying to find Fifth."

"Come here," he smirked. Jess pulled Rory into his arms again and held her tightly against his chest, placing gentle kisses in her hair as she nuzzled his neck. "So, I was thinking we could stop by my apartment to drop off your bags and then I can give you my notes on your book."

"Notes?"

"For your meeting."

"Meeting?"

"Catch up, Gilmore. It's not a big deal. I met with my agent last week and I happened to mention this incredible book I'd just finished reading. He practically begged me to make an introduction."

Rory was incredulous. "Wow... just, wow. A publisher wants to read _my_ book?"

"I had the same reaction when the Matt and Chris wanted to publish the Subsect. I thought they were crazy, or high, or both. Trust me Ror, you're going to have publishing houses fighting over this story. I'd know."

The wheels began to turn and quickly her surprise was overtaken by the kind of panic only a list-making overachiever can muster. "Jess, I have so much to do. I need to research the publisher. I should read at least three of their latest memoirs for comparison. Edit my chapters. I need thankyou cards that properly express my gratitude but also say I'm a series author..."

He couldn't help but laugh as she caught her breath. A few months back he thought the old Rory, his Rory, was gone for good. Here she was, in her exasperated glory. She just needed something to care about. "It's an informal thing. You'll show them a couple rough chapters, no pressure. OK?" he said reassuringly and rubbed her shoulder.

"Easy for you to say Mr. Best Seller," replied Rory, swatting and missing.

Jess caught her hand and intertwined their fingers as if it were the most natural thing in the world, not an impulse he'd had to resist anytime they'd walked side by side over the years. He saw her down look at their joined hands, also contemplating the significance of such a simple gesture. "This feels right," she said.

He smiled back at her. "Do you have any idea how hard it's been for me not to do that all these years? Or this." Jess leaned in and began to kiss her slowly, parting her lips and deepening the kiss. One hand on his shoulder and the other in his hair, Rory eagerly reciprocated. "Or this." His voice was muffled as his lips made their way to the pulse point on her neck that drove her crazy. She placed her hands on his shoulders to brace herself, knees suddenly weak.

The entire way home, they walked hand in hand, completely absorbed in one another despite the throngs of people passing by. Intermittently, one of them would stop to press the other against a wall or light post, kissing until they couldn't catch their breath, or, often, when a passerby shouted for them to 'get a room.'

"We're going to walk right in front of a car one of these days," Rory warned. "Or get lynched for public indecency."

"Don't care," Jess said as he felt for his keys in jacket pocket, refusing to break their kiss.

Rory slid her hand into the back pocket of Jess's jeans, taking her time to feel her way down and then coyly handed him the keys. "Looking for these?" she said with an amused expression.

He grinned and kissed her harder.

 **Warning - the next chapter is smut.**


	12. Keep thinking what you're thinking

**This entire chapter is smut - you've been warned!**

As soon as they were safely ensconced inside Jess's apartment, Rory quickly found herself pressed against the door. One by one, Jess busied himself with undoing the buttons on her coat. Nipping at his neck, Rory pulled at his jacket, eager to remove the layers separating them. Sensing her frustration, he shrugged his jacket off too, letting it fall to join hers at their feet and returning his attention to her swollen lips.

He couldn't quite believe that after all this time, she was with him, like this. Her eyes were closed and head back, breathing ragged. Rory finger-combed his thick dark hair, relishing the sensation of his strong hands on her skin. Jess caressed her body, from her breasts to down her sides and along her legs. He moaned into her mouth he felt the hem of her dress give way to bare skin. He fingered the thin fabric before tracing his path back up, this time taking a detour to slip beneath the dress and stroke her though wet panties. Rory's breath hitched as she was enraptured by the new touch.

Jess delighted in the pleasurable whimpers and writhing movements of her hips he was evoking. This was as far as they'd explored as teenagers – heavy petting and kissing on a couch. They hadn't been ready for more then, but he'd always imagined they'd share as powerful a physical connection as they did emotional one.

Rory hooked her left leg around his hips, beckoning him closer. "You're insatiable, you know that?" Jess growled, his warm breath tickling her ear and sending a shiver through her body. He gripped her ass and lifted her right leg so she was fully wrapped around him, her back pressed against the door and her dress hiked to her waist. He began to move his hips in a circular motion, grinding against her and running his hands over her exposed skin. "Rory," he repeated into her hair, neck and lips as her fists balled the fabric of his shirt. "Rory."

He could feel her inner thighs squeeze around him and tension build. "Jess," she moaned, breaking the kiss to nip at his ear. "Take me to bed." He looked at Rory probingly for any sign of doubt. When he was met by her hungry, sure gaze, he carried her to his bedroom.

Standing behind Rory, Jess slowly undid the zipper of her dress, careful to note the cluster of freckles on her shoulders. He kissed them softly and let the dress fall. He continued to kiss his way up her neck and unclasped her bra, tossing is beside the bed. Jess hugged her from behind and cradled her growing bump in his hands. "I love you," he said quietly, praying he hadn't said it too soon.

She turned around to face him and without a word pulled his T-shirt over his head, and reached down to unbutton his jeans. Once Jess's pants are discarded with the rest of their clothing, Rory pushed him on to the bed and sat in his lap, staring into his eyes. "I love you, too. I know I've never said it before, but I do."

Hoping to convey just how much her words meant to him, he worked his mouth against hers, unhurriedly but passionately. Rory's kisses grew hungrier as he massaged her breasts. He swore she had the most perfect breasts he'd ever seen – pale and perky with rosy nipples. He brought her left breast to his mouth and suckled.

"Fuck, Jess. Oh my god," Rory cried, biting down where his neck and shoulder met. A smirk played on his face. "You like that?" Spurred on by her purrs and curse words, he shifted his mouth to her other breast and rolled her freed nipple between his fingers. Grinding her hips, Rory can feel his thick erection pressed against her.

Wanting more, Rory pulled Jess flat on top of her and ran her tongue over his lips, tracing their outline. Shifting his weight to one arm, Jess removed her panties with his free hand and slipped a finger into her and brought it up to his lips. "You taste so good, baby." He's never called her baby before, but right now it feels right for some reason. Being with a woman has never felt as intimate as it does right now with Rory.

Easing himself lower, Jess kissed a trail from her breasts to her belly button and stopped to look her directly in the eyes before delving his tongue into her opening. She rocked against his mouth, soaking wet and trembling with anticipation.

Her chest was flushed and pupils dilated. "Jess. I need you," she said, tugging him back up to her. She pulled off his boxer-briefs and brought her hand down to encircle his dick, meeting his gaze to communicate her desire. Jess sharply inhaled as Rory stroked his shaft and caressed the head of his dick with a flick of her wrist. He moaned loudly and bit down on her lip. Jess was fascinated with how Rory, who sometimes seemed so timid, allowed her instincts to take over. He thrust into her hand. "Jesus, Rory. I can't wait to be inside you."

She loosened her grip and kissed him tenderly. "I'm all yours."

"Is that a challenge?" he said, flipping her over. Surprised by the sudden change in positon, a small gasp escaped her parted lips.

Hovering above her, Jess rested his forehead against Rory's and slowly sank his cock into her. All he could concentrate on was the sensation of her wet heat engulfing him and her fingernails ghosting down his slick muscled back and then gripping his ass. Their hips moved together, Rory meeting Jess thrust for thrust. Every so often he whispered her name or gave her a searing kiss. He was losing control. He could tell she was almost there, too – her eyes squeezed together as she reveled in the friction and heat building between them.

He grazed her cheek, lifting her face to look at him. Her hazy eyes open but catch his. "Come with me." Clasping her hands in his, they resumed their rocking. "Yes, Jess. Yes!" she begged as he rammed into her, harder this time. "I love you," she cried as he pushed her over the edge. If Jess had thought he felt static electricity when she touched his clothes, she was now sending shockwaves through his body. "Always," he rasped as he released inside of her.

Breathing heavy, they collapsed on the bed together. Rory was curled up, her head resting on his chest as her fingers played in his chest hair. He smoothed her bangs out of her face and placed a loving kiss on her forehead.

"So that was… intense," she said, breaking the silence.

"That good, huh?" he smirked proudly.

"Worth the wait," she admitted.

"Definitely." He kissed her again, feeling complete.

 **I've never written a sex scene before. Let me know what you thought.**


	13. Buttercups and butterflies

He's awake now and Rory is tucked tightly against his body. He strokes her bare stomach, feeling for the first time the life that is growing there. He's never done that before, felt a woman's pregnant stomach, until today. It never occurred to him to, even when Liz begged him to feel Doula kicking. When he'd told Matt and Chris about starting things up with Rory again, Chris asked ever so poetically if he was "freaked out about dating a pregnant chick." There were a few more indecent comments made about sexual positions and what pregnancy does to a woman's sex drive that he's tried to forget.

Jess breathes in the smell of her hair and relaxes into the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, moving his hand to rest on the curve of her hip. He isn't afraid or weirded out, he's… happy? There's a lot to figure out, like the distance between New York and Stars Hollow and what happens when the baby comes. But, right now, the usual noise in his head is absent.

Stretching her legs and wiggling around, Rory slowly turns to face him. Her eyes are still closed though as she tries to savour their cocoon for just a bit longer. "What time is it?" she croaks. _Cute_ , he thinks.

"It's 6 p.m." Jess replies, hugging her tighter and kissing her eyelids until she opens them. Then he remembers "Fuck. Sorry. Ror, please don't freak out on me, but you – we – need to get out of bed and get dressed." He reluctantly sits up and pulls his boxers, disappointed at the loss of contact.

"Not before coffee," she groggily protests, pulling the blanket over her face. _Not cute. Perfect_. "Do you really think I'd give up my lifeblood without first doing my research? It would have actually been worse for the baby if I had quit caffeine cold turkey," she says, sitting up on the edge of the bed and yawning.

Jess smirks. "I believe you."

"Hey, I'm telling the truth! I swear on coffee. And books."

"Well in that case…" Jess pads into the kitchen and turns on the coffee machine. There is no use trying to come between Rory and her coffee, especially today. "You know the publisher meeting that I mentioned?

"Mhmm." She saunters from the bedroom to the kitchen wearing one of his T-shirts that - with the addition of her belly - barely reaches her upper thighs. Jess chases the indecent thoughts from his mind and forces himself to focus on the task at hand.

"It's at 7:30. Tonight. Accounting for traffic, we have about an hour to get dressed, go over my notes and practice your pitch."

"An hour?" Her eyes dart to the coffee machine, which registers another 2 minutes until she can function properly. "Crap." Rory quickly runs back to the bedroom and riffles through her duffel bag for something suitable to wear. Her lucky dress doesn't fit anymore. Her outfit from yesterday – arguably bestowed with lucky powers – is discarded and wrinkled somewhere on the floor. Crap, crap, crap.

"Coffee's ready!" Jess calls from the kitchen."

"One sec!"

Rory emerges from his room in a flowy blue dress with an empire waist and one of his black blazers. "Sorry, I hope you don't mind. There aren't a lot of options when your stomach is the size of a pumpkin."

"I like when you wear my clothes," he smirks and hands her a mug of coffee. He watches her gulp it down with no regard for the temperature of the drink. "You don't have to apologize for anything. I like that you're here, in my apartment, wearing my clothes. With me. You aren't imposing."

Rory blushes at his honesty and looks down into her coffee cup. She's quiet for a few moments, trying to verbalize her complicated emotions. "It's just that this… the pregnancy. And I'm only just starting to figure out what I want to do with my life all over again. You own a successful business, have a best seller. There isn't much that I'm bringing to the table."

He looks surprised at her admission. He steps closer and rests one hand on each of her shoulders and holds eye contact in that unwavering way of his. "I love you. That's enough. You don't need to ' _bring_ ' anything." She can tell he is completely serious. She also recognizes that this is likely how he felt the entire time they were together in high school and it doesn't feel good.

"Can I ask you something? I know we're running late but did you… when we were together as kids… did you feel this way?

"All the time."

She feels ashamed. "I'm sorry if I ever made you feel that way."

He sighs, unsure of how to respond. Truthfully, the comparisons to Dean didn't help. But he also deserved that voicemail and a lot worse. He settles for, "I had a lot of issues to work through that had nothing to do with you. You saw past them to my worth. I owe you and Luke everything."

"You don't owe me—I don't want you to be with me and all that comes with me because of some misplaced sense of obligation."

"I'm not!" He shouts, surprising himself with the volume. Visibly frustrated he removes his hands from her shoulders and takes a deep breath. "We need to hurry up if you're going to make this meeting." He kisses her delicately on the lips. "I don't keep score, babe."

He hears her giggling. "Babe?" Rory can hardly contain herself.

"Huh?"

"I never took you for the nickname type is all… Darling."

Jess's mouth is agape but the smile tugging one side of his mouth up is winning out. "How dare you, Buttercup."

"Fighting dirty. I like that Stud Muffin." He covers his face with his right hand. "Are you blushing Honeybuns? You are!" she squeals, prying away his hand so she can see his face. "What not James Dean enough? How about Bae? It's modern. Cool."

"This isn't over, Shnookums" he threatens before gathering her in his arms and kissing the top of her head. The tension between them dissolves and Rory wonders if that was Jess's goal all long or if he was really trying on the name. he had called her baby in bed, but that's different. She feels a little sorry she made fun of him if the latter is true because she can tell he's been trying to be vulnerable with her – more so than he is probably used to or comfortable with.

Thirty minutes later Rory's nose in wrinkled in concentration as she pours over Jess's notes for a second time and adjusts her manuscript accordingly. He's waiting by the door dressed in black jeans and a leather jacket with his unruly hair not quite tamed. "We've got to go Ror."

"Okay, hitting send to your editor friends. Done!" She hops off the bar stool at his kitchen counter and over to him. "Thanks for your notes. I hope you like the new dedication," she singsongs.

"For Dodger," he reads out loud. "I can live with that."

"Since I've already given you a name, you can give me one. If you want to."

Jess smiles a genuine smile that starts from his eyes. "We'll see."

They rush to the subway together hand in hand as Jess enthusiastically fills her in on the ins-and-outs of the publishing business and the people she's selling to. The feelings of regret or awkwardness (He's married and I don't love him anymore, I'm not as comfortable with casual sex as I thought, I forgot you existed, the he's nearly married and I don't love him anymore part 2, and who fucks a Wookie at work) that she's felt after her various first times isn't there. The only butterflies stirring up trouble are nervous for the meetings she's headed too. She's sure this time with Jess. But there's a part of her that isn't sure he knows quite what he's in for when the baby comes – or what she wants him to be in for. Okay, so maybe there will be a few butterflies hanging around after the meeting.


	14. A biological interrogation part II

"Paris, can we please stop discussing the quality of my birth canal? I'm still trying to purge the memory of you… down there," whined Rory. "I don't need a play by play on my cervix.

"Maybe Tristan was on to something, Mary," replied the brusque blonde. "I spend more than ten hours a day elbow deep in vagina, talking to people about their vaginas or lecturing medical students about them."

Rory silently cursed herself for thinking that a post- gynecological appointment meal would do anything to minimize the weirdness that came with having Paris as her doctor. Rory's church and state feelings on the matter were of no importance to her more clinical friend.

Weeks had passed since Rory and Jess had officially gotten back together (if a couple can even get back together rather than just together after a fifteen-year separation). She had been splitting her time between Stars Hollow and New York, guest lecturing a literature class at Chilton once a week and visiting Jess and publishers on the weekends. As time went on, and after her book was picked up by a Brooklyn-based publisher, she more or less moved in with Jess. When Paris caught wind of it, she offered—or insisted, depends who you ask—that she take over as Rory's OBGYN. Now at seven and a half months pregnant, Rory was becoming eager to push this kid out, mostly to end conversations like these with Paris.

"Yes, but Paris, I don't have people looking at my _vagina_ ten hours a day," Rory said in a hushed voice, uncomfortable with the word. "Friends shouldn't be intimately familiar with each other's …vaginas. Ugh. How many times are we going to say it over the course of one conversation? Can we move on?"

"What I'm trying to say is," continued Paris un-phased, "Yours hardly stands out to me so quit being so squeamish. If you're afraid of the word I can't imagine how you're going to handle its destruction when your little Wookie arrives."

Rory visibly cringed and stuck a finger in each ear for dramatic effect. "Please don't say destruction either."

"Don't let those hippy-dippy midwives try and convince you that childbirth is some glorious bed of mother earth's most enlightening roses, it's—"

"Like doing the splits on a crate of dynamite," finished Rory dully. "Every year on my birthday at precisely 4:03 a.m. my mom reminds me. Just, can you be a good friend and let me have this one evening without acknowledging of the excruciating pain I will soon endure?"

"Rory, I _am_ being a good friend. Do you even realize how lucky you are that I could fit you in? I had to tell Beyoncé to beat it. I told Kim Kardashian's surrogate to scram. It's really the least I could do for my god-child—as your best friend and physician I'm assuming I'm the godmother—especially considering the child's dubious genetic inheritance."

There it is. The real reason they were back at the beatnik café making awkward conversation: questionable Wookie genes. At Paris's insistence, they were here to 'casually and inconspicuously acquire some DNA' so she could run some 'totally legal and not at all invasive of his privacy' medical tests to make sure he isn't actually a 'flee ridden space beast.'

"I can't believe you talked me into this," sighed Rory. "The last time I was here I plastered myself to Jess to hide from the guy. Granted, the embarrassment worked out to my benefit, but it doesn't change the fact that I don't know what to say or how to act if we see this guy."

"So long as you don't let it mount you again, you'll be fine," huffed Paris, trivializing Rory's concerns. "Now which one is he?"

"I don't even know if he's working, or if he works here anymore."

"That one over there looks like the kind of nerd who would be obsessed with some trite science-fiction film." Movies were still a sore spot for Paris; Doyle was toiling away in Hollywood on a screenplay for a movie based on a book ( _the highest of all crimes_ , said Paris. _And not even a good book_ ). "You know Doyle spray tans now?" said Paris abruptly, her train of thought making the leap. "He looks like an Oompa Loompa. No one his height should be so orange."

Thankful for the change of topic but sad for her friend, Rory asked, "Are you talking again?"

Paris momentarily looked exhausted before quickly leaning into her usual righteous anger. "We visited him at his 'bachelor pad' in LA last month. He's 100 per cent vegan and gluten-free now so we were subjected to that and hiking, in nature, with wild animals all around us. It's disturbing how he's assimilated. One day he was driving us from the _farmers market_ – don't even get me started on that one – it's a 2-mile drive but took us an hour because there isn't a direct route anywhere in that godforsaken city. Anyways, Doyle started cursing at the traffic and cutting people off aggressively. It reminded me of why I fell in love with him in the first place. That night after fencing with some prop swords from a movie I haven't watched, we had sex on his yoga mat. Yup, he does yoga now."

"I'm sorry Paris." It felt like the right thing to say even if the visual of their lovemaking disturbed her, having walked in on them way too many times at their shared Yale apartment. "Do you think you'll reconcile?"

"No. Maybe. I can't picture myself being with someone who hikes willingly but I also can't picture myself with someone other than him," she admitted in a rare display of vulnerability. "I've been hoping he would come to his senses but this writing thing seems to make him happy. We promised each other when we finished Yale to always factor each other in. I'm not exactly known for my flexibility."

Paris began scanning the room and pointed. "There. The blonde one with the man bun." Rory's eyes followed and she simply nodded.

Greg, having mistaken the pointing and staring as an indication that the friends were ready to order, confidently walked over with a smile on his face oblivious to the Force that is Paris Geller.

"What can I get you ladies?"

"Wine for me please. Not for her, obviously," replied Paris gesturing to Rory's bump, which was now more like a hill or mountain. "Do you have any kids… Greg?" Paris pretended to read his name tag.

"Nope," he said cheerfully, adding "Congratulations," as he turned his attention to Rory.

"Thank you. Umm can I have a slice of pie and a coffee." Rory swore she could see recognition play across his face and hoped it was paranoia.

Greg headed to the back to place their orders with the kitchen, whispering to a few of his coworkers.

"He used a notepad. Poor short-term memory," wrote Paris who had stealthily pulled a ten-page medical history chart out of her purse. "No kids though, if your kid growing up to unknowingly marry its half-sibling is a worry of yours."

"It wasn't."

Paris shoved the papers into her lap as Greg approached their table with a glass of red wine and a black coffee.

"Greg, do you drink?"

"I recommend the merlot."

"I mean, would you say you drink more than three times a week? Any history of addiction in your family"

With a practiced flirty smile, he joked "Only if you're buying, gorgeous."

"How sweet," said Paris with scathing sincerity. "This wine is great. You know what's not? When someone drinks too much and gets behind the wheel. BAM, you're bleeding out in the street. You would not believe how many times I treat people who need a transfusion and I don't have anything with their blood type. What's your blood type?

"No idea. I think B positive?"

"Have you ever considered giving blood?" Rory could see what Paris was angling for. DNA.

"I've thought about but never really made the time." He left and came back, this time with a second slice of pie. Greg was really earning his tip.

"Rory, if you eat pie like that every day you'll get diabetes," chided Paris. "Luckily no family history…"

"Yea. My mom has it. I know I couldn't deal with no sugar or any other crazy diet," chimed in Greg.

Paris continued with the not-so-subtle probing each time Greg visited their table. Why he kept coming back, Rory did not know. Then it happened.

"You look familiar. I've been trying to place you all afternoon. Have we met before?" Greg gave Rory a curious look.

Rory froze and started chocking on her coffee. She warned Paris that a biological interrogation was a bad idea. Did she deny deny deny ever meeting him or drop the bomb? What does someone even say in this circumstance? _Surprise, you're the father. Ta-da!_ Then she thought of Jess. He'd come to her last few appointments with her and while she hadn't voiced it to him, she was beginning to think of the baby as theirs and this other man would just complicate things.

Sputtering, "Nope. I have an average face. Very average. This happens to me all of the time."

Crap. At least he looks relieved.

Stuffing the last piece of pie into her mouth, "Did I do the wrong thing Par?"

"Like I said, sperm donor. And not a bright one, I might add."

They finished up and Paris paid the bill, giving Greg a uncharacteristic hug and generous tip. When they got outside, Paris held out a blonde hair she'd plucked from his man-bun during their goodbye exchange, gently placing it in a Ziploc bag.


	15. Daddy issues

**Throughout this story, I've been trying to hit some the big themes of the revival and original show. Parent-child relationships (and the lack of and substitutes for) factor heavily into Rory and Jess's arcs so this will be split across two chapters.**

Paris may have claimed victory by a single flaxen hair but that battle had ignited a war in Rory Gilmore's mind. _Or had the war been waged long before?_ Rory wondered as her heels clickity-clacked on Jess's kitchen's linoleum floor at 3 a.m.

The moment the doctor uttered a subdued 'congratulations', Rory had begun an inventory of every disastrous decision she'd made in the last ten years—scratch that—in her entire life. One after another she had catalogued each in her mind, turning them over and searching for a common strand. Writing her memoir had helped cast many in a fresh light. The day she cradled her first ultrasound image, she had made a promise to do better and be better. It wasn't always simple to define better and for whom.

She'd made leaps and bounds in rediscovering her purpose and happiness. But if past experiences had taught her anything, there was one life-altering choice that she was woefully unqualified to make: to tell or not to tell?

To the rhythm of Billie Jean, she tapped danced around the dizzying edges of her mind. Her mother's single parenting prowess may have shaped the person she is today but it would be remiss not to acknowledge the ways her dad's less than stellar attendance record had left cracks in her foundation. Rory had always wanted to be like her mom and said as much in her high school graduation speech, but was she ready to take it full circle?

In so many ways their trajectories had diverged. Lorelai had the determination to strike out on her own while Rory had her feet in two competing worlds, never quite fitting into either. She'd lived the vagabond life but kept the trust fund; turned down the mega-rich boyfriend's proposal only to take an upper-class affair well beyond its expiration date when her career floundered. She relished her close relationship with her mom, but her feelings on the matter became more complicated after she'd met her grandparents. At sixteen she gained this whole new life that she loved and felt burdened by. Life could have turned out a hundred different ways if her mom has chosen differently. No matter Lorelai's skepticisms of wealth and status, her mom had never considered hiding her existence to shield its influence.

Greg was a one-night stand she knew absolutely nothing about beyond his genetic profile, not a teenage sweetheart who could have made their lives easier had he been more dependable. Rory was inclined towards never telling Greg, but the guilt was eating her alive so she tapped.

Soon the clanging of her shoes and cold void in their bed would inevitably wake up Jess as it had every night that week. He would come wrap his strong arms around her from behind, kiss her neck and seductively whisper in her ear that he could think of better ways to exhaust her pent-up energy. He'd coax her back into bed and make good on his promise. In the morning, she'd explain that her bladder is two sizes too small and complain about the size of her stomach interrupting her beauty sleep and he would search her eyes, always perceptive and always knowing her too well.

….

Stealing kisses whenever they passed in aisles of their favourite record store, Jess and Rory were in their personal version of heaven. The smell of used records was almost, but not quite, as intoxicating as old books.

"You know, I've never been able to find that Go-Go's album. I've looked for it in every record store since," pouted Rory and she hastily skimmed the G row.

"Are you telepathically sending your withering stare to whatever jerk took it after you got off the bus?"

"You know me so well." She stole a kiss as Jess bumped her shoulder. He hadn't had any in-person author meetings for a few weeks and was letting a scruffy beard grow in. Rory kind of liked how it softened his angles, but would never admit it and give up her right to tease him when the mood struck.

"I was thinking we should pick out some kid-friendly music, you know, get him or her off to the right start," he smirked. "We can't have Lorelai indoctrinating _ou—your_ kid with the Bangles."

It had slipped out innocently enough but Rory had caught the rumblings of an _our_. The air in the room was heavier yet it enveloped her in a warm feeling. _Our_. If Jess was embarrassed by the gaffe, he didn't let it show. Yet when she joked, "This one will be walking like an Egyptian before it can crawl," while awkwardly recreating the dance at almost eight months pregnant in the narrow aisles of the shop, Jess's smile was short lived and his laugh stifled.

He kissed her on the cheek then resumed his perusing of the punk section on the other side of the store. A few minutes of silent contemplation and brooding later he returned with a worn _Punk Goes Classic_ and _Lullaby Renditions of Metallica_ vinyl records under his arm.

"Baby's first Clash?" Rory teased.

"I read that classical music is good for the baby's development," he shrugged nonchalantly.

"You looked it up?"

"You had that book laying around. I like books."

"You looked it up," she repeated, her eyes sparkling at the gesture.

He could have stopped there and let her appreciation roll off his back, but feigned apathy didn't really suit him at a thirty-three. "Okay. I like books. I love you. And by extension, I love this baby." He was careful not to say it this time.

Staring at the vinyl in his hands like it might have the answers to some great mystery, he cleared his throat. When he looked back up at Rory his expression was earnest. "I can't believe I'm saying this. You know talking isn't my forte but can we about what I almost said back there and the reason why you've been up all night? I don't mean right not—it's not my intention to put you on the spot or ask you to make any decisions. Just know that I'm here when you're ready. I'm not going anywhere."

His words caused Rory to take a step back and look at the daddy issues in a new light. The paint swatches she'd found in his spare bedroom/office, the vegetables he'd been sneaking into her pasta came into focus. It was obvious to her that questions of paternity and family didn't need to be hers alone to obsess over.

"Paris and I went to the beatnik café after my appointment last week!" Rory blurted louder than she intended. The words had been plotting their escape for days but hearing them echo was no less startling.

Jess was cautiously curious about the direction this was heading but knew better than to interrupt a Gilmore ramble.

 ** _To be continued..._**


	16. Chapter 16: Daddy issues part II

Chapter 16: Daddy issues part II

"I feel terrible. All week I've wanted to tell you that Paris and I went to that café. I was worried that it would hurt you. Not me seeing Greg per say but the reason why we were there in the first place, like it was somehow unfair to you. It doesn't really make any sense now that I say it out loud. It's not like I was asking him to run away with me or something."

Jess had his Jess mask on. For the first time since they'd reignited their flame his face was indecipherable to Rory.

"What was the reason?" His voice came out lower and raspier than he'd intended, betraying the emotions he was trying to carefully control. He knew it was irrational to be this bothered by her seeking out the father of her baby. Yet, the reminder that this man is and he isn't felt like a punch to the gut.

"We, uh, this is embarrassing," Rory stuttered. "Paris talked me into a convert-op to gather as much genetic information as possible in case is something goes wrong during the delivery or in the future. It may or may not have involved a lengthy questionnaire and plucking hair."

"I'm trying to picture Paris being subtle, but I got nothing," said Jess with a smirk.

"Subtly is not her strong suit. Lucky for Paris, Wookies aren't the most intelligent creatures." Part of Rory was relieved that they could laugh in this situation, but she hadn't even gotten to the heavy part. Rory took inhaled deeply and met his eyes. "Jess, he recognized me."

"Huh."

"I convinced him we hadn't met." She looked guilty, like a child who had broken something, and rested her hands on her bump. "I lied to his face. Before I could tell myself that I was simply omitting the news and it was for the best that I didn't swoop in and change his life on a whim. But he gave me an opening. The opportunity presented itself and I chose not to. I feel like a bad person, Jess. I promised I would would stop making selfish choices out of fear."

"Before you crucify yourself, what makes you think it's selfish?

"I don't know. On one hand, I think Greg has the right to know. I don't want to deny my kid the chance to know who they got their eyes from and where they come from. On the other hand, I know firsthand how crappy it feels to have a father who isn't around consistently."

"Or at all," added Jess softly. He rubbed her shoulders reassuringly and guided her to the back of the record store where there were two green leather arm chairs and privacy. He understood. Growing up knowing his dad had willingly abandoned him felt much worse, he thought, than it would've to have not know him at all.

"Is it unfair of me to assume that Greg would be that kind of father? My dad wasn't around much, but my mom never took the choice away from him, you know."

"Isn't that worse? My dad held me as a baby and decided, 'hey this isn't for me.' When I followed Jimmy to California, he had this whole other family." Jess knew he was treading into sensitive territory with the mention of California. "He was living with a woman named Sasha and her daughter Lily. He could be a father to a kid that wasn't his, and I admired and resented him for it at the same time. Mostly, I was angry that he couldn't be that person for me."

Rory was realizing just how similar her and Jess's lives were. It was akin to karmic justice that Shelly left Chris to raise Gigi alone. Although she shouldn't, Rory had on occasion felt pangs of jealously that Gigi had her father in ways she never did.

"I didn't know that." She hoped her hand on his thigh conveyed just how much it meant for him to confide in her.

"Yea, well, impulsively going to California wasn't my finest moment. I regret what it did to you. To us. I don't regret getting to know where I came from, like you said. It was weird and oddly reassuring to know that someone else in my family reads as much as I do, moves to music the same way, hates the same foods. I was suddenly less of an anomaly."

They sat in silent contemplation for a few moments. The scales were balanced—no one option presenting itself as more right.

Rory was the first to break the silence.

"When I found out I was pregnant, I went to see my dad. He told that everything was the way it was supposed to be—me and my mom together, alone. I felt like he was absolving himself of responsibility because I turned out alright in the end. Did he realize that things weren't always alright? That my mom used to take me to work with her and turn cleaning hotel rooms into a game because there was no one helping her? But my mom and I have a pretty special relationship that we may not have had otherwise."

"Yea. Maybe not being there is the best gift a shitty parent can give," Jess said with a dark chuckle. "The first good decision Liz made was sending me to live with Luke. At the time, I hated her for it. But now I see it for what it is: She wanted better for me." He shrugged. "I met you. And for the first time, I had a stable guardian who, even though I resisted it like a punk, watched out for me, asked more of me because he knew I was more, and set an example."

Rory thought of Luke. Luke who had been like a father to them both. Luke who had lost out on twelve years of April's life because Anna had been faced with a similar choice and chose to not tell him.

"April missed out on Luke's amazingness because Anna assumed he wasn't father material," said Rory. "You know what they say about assuming." She smiled weakly.

"I don't know what to tell you, Ror. Speaking from experience, biology doesn't automatically make a person a worthy parent. It doesn't discount them either. There's no way to tell if the Wookie – sorry, Greg – will be a Jimmy or a Luke. But if I were him, I wouldn't want the decision made for me." He held eye contact and said earnestly, intertwining their fingers. "If I was him, I would want to be a part of everything."

She stared back at him curiously. What was he offering?

"When I denied knowing him, he looked relieved," admitted Rory dejectedly. "He seemed happy when I gave him the out."

"That upsets you."

"I felt relieved, too – is that awful? If I seem upset it's only because I can't imagine someone not wanting to know this baby. I already love him or her so much. At the end of the day, what I really want is a dad that wants to be there, really wants to be there, so they grow up feeling loved and confident in their place in the world. Someone who will read to them, tuck them in, show up when they say they will."

Jess looked down that their intertwined fingers. He took his hands back causing Rory to flinch at the loss contact. He traced the outline of her cheek and jaw and lips with his thumb, while his other hand rested lovingly on her bump. He leaned in and kissed her softly. When he pulled back he rested his forehead against hers and whispered sincerely, "I could do that."

"And if there is a science fair in our kid's future?"

"Then I'll have to learn how to share."


	17. Chapter 17: Deviled eggs & white fences

**I'm wrapping up this story soon, but wanted to give a glimpse into Rory and Lane's friendship over the years, and give Lane a more interesting life than she had in the revival, because she deserves better.**

Rory jogged (okay, waddled quickly) across the Stars Hollow town square, narrowly dodging a few cars and past a familiar white picket fence. As she unlatched the fence's gate and quickly took the two steps to the yellow building's front door she recalled all of the times she'd done the same thing, girlish and eager to dissect the mysteries of boys, first kisses and music.

Unlike all the times before, Rory stopped short of busting through the door of "Kim's Music" – formerly "Kim's Antiques" – and yelling her best friend's name.

Truthfully, she hadn't been around much in the last two years. She'd borrowed a life that wasn't hers anymore, and when Logan proposed to Odette, everything she'd borrowed was to be given back.

The first time she'd graced Kim's Music with her presence was its grand opening a year and a half ago. That night Rory had been so proud of her friend for transforming the old antique store into a hip music shop and venue after Mrs. Kim decided to become a minister. Rory knew it was stupidly self-centered, but for a long time she had pitied Lane's small-town life. As Lane celebrated with her husband, kids and friends, it was obvious that it had been her who'd regressed and Lane who'd grown up to have all the things they'd talked about in hushed voices. Standing on the porch that night nursing a scotch and staring down at her expensive shoes, guilt bubbled over and for the first time Rory acknowledged her unhappiness – and jealousy.

It wasn't just this memory that made the doorstep feel foreign – it was how much she'd changed between visits. She wasn't that same person – and Lane was to credit as much as Jess.

Rory shook her head and smiled to herself. A few months ago, thinking about Logan used to sting, both because of what was lost and the ugliness of who she had become. But she found none of that mattered anymore. She had something so much better. So much more real with Jess. Rory felt like her old self again. Rory Gilmore: daughter, best friend, literati, lover of one reformed hoodlum.

The last time Rory was here, it was for help. She asked for Lane's help in calling it off with Logan. Lane listened patiently, squealed at the appropriate parts, badmouthed Logan as required, and thoughtfully asked Rory if she wanted the truth or rose-coloured version of it. When Rory asked for a dose of reality, Lane handed her the phone. "If you love him and want to be with him, tell him that. If you don't, and I don't think you do, you need to tell him it's over. Once upon a time he resembled a good person. But mostly, he's brought out the worst in you." Lane stayed by Rory's side as she dialed, hung up and manically flung the phone to the floor ten times over until it was done.

Things were good with her and Lane now. And something great had happened in her life that she wanted to share with her best friend. So, Rory shrugged off the remnants her 'dark years' and excitedly turned the knob on the white door of the big yellow house she'd spent so much of her childhood imagining her future in. Practically bouncing, Rory let herself in and loudly yelled "Lane! Lane!"

Her bewildered friend rushed to the entrance way looking a little frazzled. "Rory? Is everything okay?"

"I'm having a baby!"

"Well, I knew that," said Lane gesturing to Rory's frame.

"With Jess," said Rory, catching her breath.

"I know we haven't seen each other in a while, but I thought it was…"

Rory, excitedly interjected before Lane could finish. "I know. I know. Biologically, it's the Wookie's, but Jess offered to be its dad."

"Wow, that's big," said Lane, letting the news sink in.

"Yea," said Rory, unable to control the grin on her face. "It is."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but normally you run away from big. Jess has always been big, hence all the running. You seem surprisingly chill" Lane knew her well.

"I'm ready now. I wasn't before, but I am now," replied Rory with certainty.

"Then this is big," agreed Lane, whose grin now matched Rory's in size. "Details woman."

"This weekend we were browsing the record store and I told him about Paris's crazy scheme and how I was having second thoughts about never telling the father."

"And just like that he asked to be your baby daddy?"

"In the back of this old record store on some green couches. It's far more romantic than I'm making it out to be."

"Very rock-an-roll," Lane nodded approvingly. "Can you imagine who may have sat on those couches. Debbie Harry. Joey Ramone. Yoko … Sorry, I'm getting distracted; I've been on a New York City music scene binge lately. Focusing on what's important: Jess asked to be your baby daddy. I don't even know why I'm shocked. He has always been so in love with you."

"As soon as he said 'ours', I felt so stupid for not seeing it sooner. He's it for me."

"I knew it was real love when you devil egged his car," Lane said sagely. Rory hit her with a couch cushion. "Hey! It takes a profound level of denial and a combustible amount of passion to toss cooked eggs at a guy's car. I'm calling it like it is."

"Lane Kim! You take that to your grave."

"I take it Jess doesn't know?"

"He has his suspicions, which will never be confirmed."

The two friends sat there laughing like kids. And just when they thought they'd gotten it out of their system, one would crack and they'd erupt into a fresh fit of giggles.

"You're getting your happy ending," Lane whispered reverently.

Rory started to tear up as Lane pulled her into a hug. "I'm getting my happy ending," Rory repeated.

"Paris has claimed the title of godmother because of her womb powers. I want you to be the cool aunt that my kid comes to for healthy food when all I have is pop tarts and coffee in the house." Lane wrinkled her nose in disgust. "How is that cool-aunt stuff? You make me sound like Mrs. Kim."

"Kids always want what they can't have. My kid will think eating broccoli is the ultimate rebellion and need someone who knows how to cook it so they don't suffer malnutrition." Lane didn't look convinced. "Plus, Lane, can you imagine the pranks Jess will pass down? I need you to teach them how to hide the evidence."

"That I can do. I do have an unrivaled floor-board system."

Lane's energy and joy was infectious. Rory supposed it was harder to face the people who knew you best when you didn't like or recognize yourself. It made pretending a hell of a lot harder and exhausting. It felt good to be honest and happy again. To be in Stars Hollow and not feel like a failure. To laugh with her best friend, who never failed to be honest yet supportive. To be back in this house, talking about the same boy she'd described in abstract as her true love as a teenager.

Life was exactly how it should be thought Rory as she bounded down the same two steps, past the white fence and into the placid chaos of Stars Hollow that evening.


End file.
